


a tree, some bells, and boys, skating

by sinead



Category: NSYNC, Popslash
Genre: Holiday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-14
Updated: 2009-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-02 16:09:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinead/pseuds/sinead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><br/>god rest ye merry, gentlemen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a tree, some bells, and boys, skating

**Author's Note:**

> (Made up. Not true. Chimerical. Fanciful. Imaginary. Suppositious. Fiction.)

 

_ They've got cars big as bars  
They've got rivers of gold  
But the wind goes right through you  
It's no place for the old_

_ When you first took my hand  
On a cold Christmas eve  
You promised me Broadway  
was waiting for me..._

_ The boys of the NYPD choir  
were singing 'Galway Bay'  
and the bells were ringing out  
for Christmas day_

\--from _Fairytale of New York_: the Pogues  
(wr. by Shane MacGowan/Jem Finer)

  


* * *

Joey had an uncle, and the uncle had a friend, who had a cousin, who had a brother-in-law who knew someone who worked at Rockefeller Center. This person had the clout to get them into the private skating party that was being held beneath the famous tree, on the famous rink. Because while they were just beginning to be famous in the States--there had been fans screaming on the sidewalk outside of TRL that afternoon--they weren't that famous. Yet. That was the way things worked in New York, Lance was realizing. You needed to know someone. Or else be so famous that everybody knew you.

The other thing he was realizing was that he sucked at skating. Granted, he had never really done it before tonight, but still. Look at JC, over there gliding along. He said he hadn't had skates on since he was twelve, but he floated over the ice. Hand in hand with a girl. Laughing. They were a Hallmark commercial in action. While Lance was cautiously maneuvering along the edge of the rink, wary of falling on his ass and having fifteen speedy New Yorkers skate over him. He was cold, too. His ears were cold, his hands were cold, his feet were _freezing_. He gritted his teeth to keep them from chattering, and kept going, determined to make it around at least once.

There was a whisper of sound behind him, steel on ice, and Joey's voice said, "The ice goes all the way out to the center, you know."

Lance turned, very carefully, and nearly fell. Joey shot out a hand and grabbed his arm. They teetered, clutching one another for a moment, until Lance regained his balance and could look up. Joey was wearing a dark sweater and a down vest. He had on one of those skier headbands, and his hair was standing up in a shock above it. The golden light from the tree behind him glittered through the strands, and his dark eyes sparkled. Lance still had his hands on Joey's gloved ones, and could feel the heat coming off of him. At this moment, he never wanted to let go. Joey frowned a little, and said, "you look kinda cold, dude."

"I am," Lance sighed. "I forgot a hat. And gloves."

"Jesus, you really are from the South, aren't you? Here."

Before Lance could protest, Joey had pulled off his own gloves and cupped Lance's numb ears in his big warm hands. It was simultaneously the most painful and the most wonderful sensation he had ever felt, and he didn't know whether to scream or moan appreciatively. He settled for clinging to the front of Joey's down vest so he wouldn't fall down.

"I was watching you," Joey said. "You're doing fine. You've just got to relax a little. It's harder if you fight it." His breath as he spoke was a vaporous cloud. He pulled off his headband, smiling, and slipped it down over Lance's ears.

"Oh, hey, Joey, I don't--"

"Shhh. Keep it. I'm plenty warm." It was true; standing this close to Joey was like standing next to a fire. "Here." He handed Lance one of his gloves. Lance unwound his fist from its death grip on the vest, and took it. It was the right glove. "Put it on, come on." Lance unwound his other fist and put the glove on, and then Joey took his left hand firmly. "Ready?"

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Lance asked warily, but he hoped Joey wouldn't change his mind. Joey and I are holding hands, he thought. Like JC and that girl.

"The best," Joey grinned back at him. "Okay. Relax. You gotta keep your knees soft. And just push. That's it. Push. You got it. Push."

Lance hung onto Joey's hand, and pushed, and felt the wind of their passage ruffle his hair, and felt the ice beneath his blades, and the light of the tree falling on him, and New York all around him. But mostly he felt Joey's hand. He thought he might fall, and then he didn't, and something must have communicated itself along their outstretched arms, between their ungloved palms, warm against one another, because Joey looked at him and said, "Don't worry. I'll catch you."

* * *

We rode in a limo tonight, thought JC. The loudspeakers in the plaza were playing 'Jingle Bells'.

It was the first time they had ridden in a limo like that, not a van, or Justin's mom's station wagon, or Chris' old junker. They were swept through the crowded, glittering, noisy streets, and inside the limo it had been dimly lit and quiet, and warm, with a tv, and a bar, although they didn't drink anything, and Chris had been the only one with the nerve to turn on the tv. They spoke in hushed voices, and sprawled on the leather seats, and it had been the coolest thing, enclosed in that little bubble of privacy.

Now he was skating, and he could hear the sounds of the traffic, the occasional discordant honk of a taxi, and the screech and thump of the air brakes on the buses. Someone near them slipped on the ice and fell, and there was laughter and cursing. Joey and Lance went by hand in hand, and he could hear Joey say "push", and Lance's low murmur, followed by Joey's high, goofy laugh. 'O Holy Night' came over the loudspeakers, and JC started to sing, softly. The girl laughed next to him, and started to sing, too. Her voice was sweet and thin, untrained. She was nice; she had been a little shy at first, even though she didn't know who they were, but now she was at ease, asking him questions about Europe and telling him about her classes. "I'm getting my B.F.A. at NYU," she had said, and the words went around in his head like a little tune. BFA at NYU. Beeee-Ef-Aaaay at En-Whyyy-Yooouuu. It was nice to talk to a girl like this, have a regular conversation. JC thought about the girls screaming in Times Square, and the remembered sound of it blended with the blaring taxi horns and the tinny sounding carols, and this girl, talking and singing, and then the bells of the cathedral started to ring. JC could feel them resonate deeply in his chest, _bom, bom, bom_.

"St. Pat's," said the girl. The loudspeakers started to play 'Adeste Fideles'. I wonder if we're taking the limo back, thought JC. I'd kind of like to see what the subway is like. I want to know what all of it is like, he thought, although he was a little vague about what "all of it" might be. "joyful and triumphant," sang the girl breathlessly.

* * *

Justin was annoyed, because he was bad at this, sort of, and he wasn't used to being bad at anything. His legs felt like an awkward colt's, the way they kept splaying out from under him.

Chris zipped over and executed a neat-footed stop, his braids whirling around his head. Show-off, Justin thought sourly. I could do this, too, if I were only three feet tall. Chris, however, seemed oblivious to Justin's mood. He began skating in a slow circle around him, and said, "man, that's the biggest honkin' tree I've ever seen. Even the one at Universal wasn't that big."

"It's pretty cool," Justin agreed, and looked sidelong at Chris, who was looking back at him. "nope," Chris said, and then they both shouted, "it's FUCKING freezing!!" in perfect synchronization. People near them looked up and frowned, but then smiled when they saw two boys laughing their fool heads off.

"oh, oh," Justin gasped, "remember? remember JC? and the waitress?"

"And the scrambled eggs?"

"And Lou's _face_?" That set them both off again, giggling hysterically, until Chris subsided enough to say drily, "yeah, and do you remember what your mom said when she showed up?"

"Shee-ut," Justin said, sobering up. "I thought I was on the next plane back to Orlando for sure."

"Yeah, well," Chris shrugged, "it all turned out okay." He looked chastened for a moment, then with one of the lightning quick changes that Justin never tired of observing in Chris' face, he grinned fiendishly. "It was the best, actually."

"Best joke, absolutely."

"Best concert?"

"Ours, or somebody else's?"

"Ours."

"That second night in Frankfurt."

"Check."

"Best car?" They fought about that one for a while; Justin was all for a Mercedes, but Chris told him he was boring and insisted it had to be a classic Corvette, or something. "Something a _banker_ wouldn't drive, J." They were circling one another desultorily on the ice as they argued. Justin forgot about his ineptitude on skates.

"Okay, Curly, here's one. Best hamburger."

"Dude. Big Mac."

"Ha!" Chris smacked his head. "You are an infant with no tastebuds. The best hamburger in the world comes from Sammy's on Fourth in Pittsburgh."

"Yo, I've never been to Sammy's on Fourth in Pittsburgh."

"That's fucked up, dude. You've led a deprived life. Everyone needs to go to Sammy's." Chris could always trump him by playing the life experience card.

Justin tried a turn, as he had seen Chris do it, and managed to stay on his feet. Feeling triumphant, he said magnanimously, "Okay. I'll go to Sammy's and get back to you." Giddy with success, he executed another turn. "Hey. Best Christmas?" He didn't know how he could choose when he said that, remembering Christmases at his grandparents, the decorations he loved, the toys under the tree. Then he remembered how poor Chris' family had been and thought, "shit." Chris had once said they didn't even have a tree, most years.

Chris was looking, not pained, but considering. "Well. This one, I guess."

Justin suddenly found himself speaking quietly. "This one hasn't happened yet."

Chris cocked his head at him. "No, but so far, we've got our cd, and this fucking cool tree, and I get to watch you waltz around like a giraffe on those skates. What more could the fat dude in red bring to this occasion?"

As he yelled "Giraffe?! Oh, that's it, Kirkpatrick. You are so going down," Justin felt something rise up in his chest. The cd, the tree and me, he thought, while he attempted to chase Chris across the ice. And him. Who needed toys?


End file.
